


Nothing

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: After a hard day at work, Jackson and April decide to let off some steam at Joe's. One thing leads to another and the next morning, the hickey on April's neck is the elephant in the room.





	Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my best friend ellie for this request :)

I have a hickey on my neck. 

I’ve never, ever been the type of girl to walk around with a hickey, but now I guess I can’t say that anymore. 

When I opened my eyes, I was practically lying on top of Jackson. He had one arm around my back, my cheek squished against his chest. Luckily, we were both fully clothed. 

He was still dead asleep. I might have been worried he was actually dead if I couldn’t hear his heart thrumming right under my ear, because he didn’t so much as stir when I untangled my limbs from his. 

I tiptoed out of his room, in total disbelief how last night escalated. I looked both ways down the hall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but a voice made me jump.

“Told you.”

I flipped my head around and instinctively covered the sore spot on my neck, even though I wasn’t yet sure what it was. Standing there in her pajamas was Lexie, looking smug. I wished I could wipe that look right off her face.

I hurried away and locked myself in the bathroom. I stared into the mirror and gasped after turning the light on. 

Because I have a hickey on my neck. That’s what the sore spot is. 

It’s right there, plain as day. I don’t wear makeup, and I’m not about to ask for something to cover it up with. All that would do is prompt a million questions, and I’m not up for that. My roommates tease me enough as it is. 

As I shower and get dressed, I comb through excuses I can use for it today. I decide that I’ll just tell people that I burnt myself with the curling iron, so I make sure to curl my hair. I debate really burning myself just to seem legit, but tell myself that’s going a bit too far. 

When I go downstairs, I hear movement from the kitchen. For the first time ever, I cross my fingers that it’s one of my female roommates or even Alex, but no such luck. Standing at the kitchen island, looking half-asleep, is Jackson. Eating dry cereal out of the box. 

“We have bowls, you know,” I say, sauntering in while trying to seem nonchalant. “And milk.” 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging. 

There’s a weird pause between us, charged with questions and comments we both want to say. But I won’t go first. My method is to forget that anything ever happened. 

“So, about last night…” he begins, setting the box down. 

I look at him over my shoulder from where I stand in front of the fridge, searching for English muffins. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten trashed, it was totally stupid of me. I haven’t drank like that since college, and honestly I don’t know how I’m standing up right now.” He chuckles. “I just… god, this is really bad. But I can’t really remember what happened.” 

I grip the door of the fridge and force a smile. “Oh,” I say. “Nothing happened. We just… we fell asleep.” 

“In my bed?” 

“Uh-huh,” I say, gut twisting. I want to get out of this room and stop talking about this. And most of all, I want to stop thinking he’s so damn cute standing there with his mussed clothes and bleary eyes. 

“Together?” 

“Yeah,” I mutter, pulling out a gallon of milk. English muffins are gone. “I just woke up before you.”

His eyes trail over my face, then lower. They stop at my neck, seeing what’s there before my hand can fly up to cover it.

“Are you _ sure _ nothing happened?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together. “Because that sure looks like a hickey.” 

“I... yeah, no. It’s…” 

“And unless you got another guy drunk last night and ‘fell asleep’ with him in my bed, I’d have to say I’m pretty sure I gave it to you.” 

My face flames. “I didn’t get you drunk,” I say. “That was of your own volition. Don’t… don’t go blaming your frat-boy behavior on me.” 

He laughs. “You egged me on,” he says.

“You were upset!” I say, voice shrill. I clear my throat and try to calm down. “You were upset. You had a hard day. What, was I supposed to say no to coming out with you? I just wanted to cheer you up.” 

“Looks like we did plenty of cheering up,” he says, eyes still on the hickey.

I get flustered again, taking a deep inhale as I forget about breakfast. “I just… I…” I let out a gust of air. “Have a good day,” I say, and set the gallon of milk down next to him and his dry cereal breakfast. 

He and I both know it. Something definitely happened.

**_-24 hours before-_ **

Today is the day. Hunt told me that the next surgical case that comes into the ER, I get to lead the surgery. I’ve never been more excited or nervous in my life, and I’ve been praying nonstop. It would be just like me to freeze under pressure while trying to prove myself, and that really can’t happen. 

While waiting for a case to come in, I run into Jackson. He’s nonchalant and casual, as always, as he stands by the nurses’ station and eats a granola bar. 

“What’s got you all hyped up?” he asks, noticing without me having to say a thing. 

“What?” I say. “I’m not hyped up.” 

He chuckles. “Sure.” 

I sigh and roll my eyes. “I’m trying not to be, at least. Hunt told me I can lead a surgery today. I’m hoping for something easy, you know, so I won’t make a fool of myself the first time he actually trusts me. Maybe an appy. Or… I don’t know. Something easy. I’m just nervous.” I sigh, running my hand through my hair. “Really nervous. Is it that obvious?” 

“Yeah, kinda,” Jackson says, taking another bite. “You just gotta trust yourself.” 

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, easy for you to say. Harper Avery’s grandson, anyone?”

“Hey,” he says. “Stop. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, it does,” I say. “You know it does.” 

“I mean, it means my reputation comes before my actual personality, which sucks.”

“Right, because you even don’t have much of a personality… so sad,” I tease, unable to keep the smirk off my face.

He swats me with a folder that was resting on the counter. “Watch yourself, Kepner.”

I giggle. “I’m sure it’s your _ personality _ that has all the girls falling at your feet.” 

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’ll admit it. We all know it’s the eyes.” 

I groan loudly. “You and your eyes,” I say. 

“Come on,” he says, batting his eyelashes. “Tell me they don’t melt you. Just a little bit.”

I look into his eyes with a bored expression, tipping my head to one side and pretending to be unimpressed. “Hmm… nope,” I say, picking up the folder and swatting him with it this time. “Nothing. Not that special.”

He laughs and leans against the counter. “Whatever,” he says, then turns serious again. “Your surgery is gonna go fine, whatever it is. I’m leading a breast augmentation today. That should be the freakin’ easiest thing ever. Wanna trade?” 

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re willing to give up boobs? For me?” I gasp, putting on a show. “I mean, I knew we were friends, but wow. Didn’t know you held me that high.” 

“Offer revoked,” he says, smile edging onto his lips. “And you’re an ass.” 

“Kepner! We’ve got an incoming, get to the pit. Stat!” 

Just as I hear Hunt’s voice, my pager goes off at the same time. “Oh, shoot!” I say, flying into gear. “I gotta go. Wish me luck!” 

“You don’t need it!” he calls after me, and my stomach twists with nerves like I’ve never felt before in my life. 

But still, I remember that he has a surgery later, too. “You’re gonna do great with your boobs!” I shout. 

The last thing before I disappear into the pit is his laugh. 

I’m on a high when I come out of my surgery, which couldn’t have gone better. I performed a fasciotomy, which I’d seen and assisted on plenty of times. But having the chance to do it myself was otherworldly. I saved a woman’s life - a woman who had two young children and a husband waiting in the lobby, who I got to tell that I saved her life. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better than this. 

I practically run down the hallway when I see Jackson at the end of the day. I’m in my street clothes, ready to head home, and he is, too.

I catch up with him, my flats making soft sounds on the linoleum floor. “Jackson,” I say breathlessly. “Hey!” 

He turns and looks at me with a half-assed smile on his face. “Hey,” he says. 

I can’t help it, I burst right into my good news. “My surgery went great!” I say. “It was a fasciotomy. Hunt and Bailey were both there, but I did it. I did most of it, all on my own! I got to tell this lady’s family that I saved her. It was awesome.”

He smiles weakly again, nodding. “That sounds amazing,” he says. “Told you that you didn’t need luck.” 

I study his face, confused at his moroseness. “You okay?” I ask, touching his elbow as we head towards the main doors. 

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Fine.” He pauses for a second, reconsidering, then speaks again. “No, actually. No. I’m really not fine.” 

“Talk to me,” I say, matching his pace as we walk to the car that we carpooled in this morning. 

“You don’t wanna hear,” he says. “I’m not gonna bring you down like that. You did a freakin’ cool thing today. Just forget it.” 

“No, Jackson,” I say, insistently. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Just spit it out.” 

He sighs, setting his jaw firm. He takes in a deep breath, then says, “My patient died,” he says. “Coded, right there on the table. During a damn boob job.” 

“Oh, no…” I say. “Oh, god. Jackson, I’m really sorry. What happened? A blood clot or something? I’m sure it wasn’t something you did.” 

“Her heart gave out,” he says. “Wouldn’t restart with shocks.” 

“See, there was nothing you could do,” I say, trying to be comforting. 

He shrugs. “I feel like shit,” he says. “I was gonna go to Joe’s. I need a drink. I don’t know, wanna come with me?” He makes quick eye contact. “Going alone is pretty pathetic, I realize that now.” 

“Sure,” I say, opening the passenger’s side door like always. “I’ll go.” 

We sit at the bar, leaning forward on our elbows as we talk about anything but work. Jackson is the best at calming me down when I disappear into my head, so I want to do the same for him. He deserves it. I don’t want him to blame himself for his patient coding when it was totally out of his control. 

“So, yeah,” I say, in the middle of a story. “There I was, standing up by the altar dressed as Mary in old sheets that my mom dug out of the linen closet. And I just… peed. Peed! In my pants, in front of everyone.” 

He cracks up laughing, doubling over so his forehead rests on the bar. He’s two shots and three beers in. If it were me, I’d be trashed at this point, but he’s bigger than I am. He’s definitely giggly though; past the point of tipsy, on his way to trashed. 

“You’re kidding!” he hollers. “How old were you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Seven or eight.” 

“Oh, dude…” he groans. “That’s so bad. Mary peed her pants in front of everyone.” 

I laugh. “I know. I was a really unfortunate kid. As if I didn’t get made fun of enough, everyone called me piss-pants Kepner for a like, a year after.” 

He shakes his head and signals to Joe to bring him another shot. He takes it quickly, before I can protest, so I shut my mouth and tell myself that it’s okay. He had a hard day. He deserves to let loose. 

“What embarrassing stories do you have?” I ask. 

Jackson is glossy and perfect on the surface, he never delves very deep into his personal life or past with anyone. But I won’t let him get away with not sharing after I just gave him arguably the most mortifying moment of my childhood.

He cracks up before he even starts the story. “One time,” he begins, trying to catch his breath. “Get this. Get this.” 

He reaches across and takes my hand, holding it in both of his as he continues to laugh. I stare at it, eyes wide, but don’t try and take it away. I don’t know what made him do that, but he seems to like it. I do, too. So I let it stay. 

“One time, I walked into school. I went to this bougie-ass private school. And this was when I was like, 13. And I was a little badass, alright? All the girls wanted me.” He eyes me. “ _ All  _ of them. And I thought I was hot shit! So, I walk into school and everybody just starts laughing at me. And I was like, what the hell? Even my friends were laughing. And I had no idea why. Finally, I went into the bathroom or whatever because no one would freakin’ tell me what was going on. And I turned around and my mom’s freakin’ underwear were sticking to my khakis! They got stuck together in the laundry, and I walked into school with them on my damn leg.” He laughs, despite himself, and I join in. “I literally left school. Couldn’t stay there that day. It was horrible, I was so pissed at my mom.” 

“It wasn’t her fault!” I say. “Laundry does that.”

“Yeah, tell that to me at 13,” he says. “I could’ve sworn she was purposefully sabotaging me.” 

We both crack up, and he leans against my shoulder for support. After a beat of silence, he turns his head and studies my face. 

“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

He shrugs. “Everyone was mean to you in school?” he asks. “All the time?” 

I scoff like it’s no big deal. “Pretty much,” I say. “I’m used to it. That’s why everyone’s comments at the hospital don’t really bother me.” 

He narrows his eyes. “No one’s ever told you you’re pretty?” 

I turn my head away. “Jackson.”

He turns it back, and I let him. “No one’s ever told you that?” he asks again. 

My blush is uncontrollable. I can’t help but notice how close we are; so close that I can see every freckle dotting his nose. “No,” I admit softly. 

He wets his lips, eyes darting to mine. “You are,” he says. “April, you are pretty.” He clears his throat. “And not in some hot bimbo kinda way. Like the blonde hair, the tits, the red lips and ass. No… not like that.” He holds my chin between his thumb and first finger. “You’re kinda like… a porcelain doll. One of my nannies used to have this one with red hair. You remind me of her.” 

I smile bashfully. No one, and I mean no one, has ever talked to me like this before. Even though he’s drunk, his words give me butterflies.

“Well, don’t break me,” I say, trying to joke. 

“I wouldn’t,” he breathes, nose almost touching mine. “I won’t.” 

I let out a shaky inhale, unable to believe how close we are. 

“God, you don’t even know how bad I wanna kiss you…” he whispers. 

I nudge his nose with mine and feel bolstered with confidence, though I have no alcohol in my system. “You can,” I say. 

“Yeah?” he says, voice barely discernible.

I nod, and he holds both sides of my face. Even though he’s drunk, he has complete control of his mouth and he lets me know that. He parts his lips and swipes over mine with his tongue, which makes my stomach jump and my heart speed up. I keep my hands on his biceps, feeling them flex as he pulls me closer. 

When we break apart, he rubs his thumb over my lower lip and kisses me again, his thumb in the way. “Very soft,” he murmurs, still stroking. 

I blink, snorting with laughter. “What?” 

He holds my face in his hands, running over my cheekbones with his thumbs and kind of squishing my cheeks. “Very beautiful,” he says, smiling. 

“Oh, god,” I say, inhaling deeply. “We should get you home.” 

I pay the tab because Jackson is too busy staring at me to do so himself, and manage to get him outside. I pull him through the parking lot by one hand as he trails behind me, and when he gets closer he says, “Cute ass.” 

“Jackson!” I scold, trying not to smile.

“Don’t take that the wrong way,” he says, as we make it to the car. He leans against the side of it, arms out straight. “I can’t get in,” he says.

“Why’s that?” I ask, standing across from him with one hip popped. 

He throws his head back to expose his neck. “I need another kiss first,” he whines. 

I open the passenger door and do my best at shoving him in, and he doesn’t put up much of a fight. “You don’t wanna kiss me,” I say. “You’re still sad about Lexie.”

“Bull,” he says, fumbling with his buckle as I get into the car. “Whole time we were together, only thing on her mind was Mark, Mark, Mark.” He giggles. “Serves me right, I guess. Only thing on  _ my _ mind was you, you, you.” 

I widen my eyes at my hands resting on the steering wheel and remind myself that he’s drunk. Everything he says must be taken with a grain of salt. He’s long gone. 

“Okay, Jackson,” I say, rolling my eyes with a smile as I pull out of the parking lot. 

“You don’t believe me,” he says, words slurring as he tosses his head to look at me. “And that’s okay. You keep not believing me, that’s a-okay. But…” He closes his eyes briefly and licks his lips. “Sometimes, when we were like, doing it, me and Lexie, you’d come into my head.” He laughs softly. “Don’t tell me how wrong that is, ‘cause I already know. I never… aw, shit. I was supposed to never tell you that.” 

My face has never been hotter or redder than it is right now. As I drive the familiar route back to our house, I can’t believe what’s coming out of his mouth. He thought about me while he was having sex with Lexie?

“I never said your name. That’d be over the line.” He laughs at himself again. “You’re just so… pretty, April. You’re so you. And you don’t apologize for it! You’re you, goddammit.” He sighs, sounding frustrated. “I love that. So much.” 

“You’re you, too,” I say, trying my best to keep up with this conversation.

“Not like you are,” he says. “All those idiots, they give you so much shit. All the time. But that doesn’t stop you from like, doing your thing. That’s so cool, dude. You’re a badass, alright?” 

I smirk to myself. I know I’m never going to forget he said that.

When we get out of the car at home, I go around to open his door since he seems rendered incapable. I pull him out by the hands and he wraps his arms lazily around my waist, accidentally touching a strip of exposed skin at the small of my back.

I gasp, but don’t pull away.

“Remember when I said you’re pretty…” he says, swaying us. “You also smell  _ really _ good. All the time.”

I giggle and say, “Thank you,” while trying to lead his floppy body inside the house. 

His steps are heavy and without a steady rhythm as he makes his way in, and he kicks his shoes off in two different directions once the door is shut behind us. 

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

As I lead him up the stairs, I can’t get the kiss we shared out of my mind. Even in his inebriated state, he was such a good kisser. I’d be lying if I said I never wondered. 

I pause at his closed door and turn the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Jackson takes a step closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, and buries his face in my neck. When he speaks, his lips move against my skin and send chills down my spine. 

“It sticks,” he says. “Put your weight into it.” 

I give the door a good shove, and it goes flying open. He skims his hands over my stomach, fingers spread out so his pinkies touch the waistband of my jeans, and opens his mouth on the slope of my shoulder.

“Jackson…” I say, attempting to unravel myself from him. “You’re drunk.” 

“And?” he says. “Drunk words are sober thoughts.” 

“If I had a dollar every time I heard that-” 

“You’d be rich,” he says. “Because it’s true.” He kisses my skin again, and I feel his tongue glide over its warmth. I can’t help but let my eyes close as a sigh escapes me, unable to believe the feelings he’s giving me. 

“Okay,” I say weakly, stepping out from his arms and leading him into his bedroom. “Okay. Wow. Um… get your pajamas on, okay? I’ll be right back to check on you.” 

I go into my own room and change into loungewear, then head back to him after I finish brushing my teeth. With my hand on the knob, I hear Lexie’s voice behind me. 

“Be careful,” she says, and I turn around to see her smiling. “He’s a lovey drunk.”

I screw up my eyebrows. “It’s not like that,” I say. “I’m just… I’m just taking care of him. Nothing… there’s nothing between us. Stop being silly.” 

“Okay,” she sings, raising her eyebrows and heading off towards her own room. 

I push open the door to find Jackson on his bed, still dressed in his street clothes while swaying back and forth. He looks to me, wearing a dopey expression. 

“I thought I told you to change,” I say, walking over. 

“You did, didn’t you…” he trails off, then raises his arms above his head. “Can’t. The room is spinning. I need help.” 

I sigh softly, but don’t fight him. I find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and bring them over, feeling my heart start to pound as I stand in front of him, knee-to-knee. 

I pull his shirt off over his head and try not to let my eyes wander his sculpted chest. I swallow loudly, fumbling for the t-shirt I brought, but he shakes his head.

“I sleep shirtless,” he says, lowering his arms. Then, he lies back. “Can you help me with my pants?” 

I let out another shaky breath as my hands poise at the button of his jeans. I always thought the first time I did this would be under very different circumstances, but I try to push that thought from my mind. This isn’t sexual. I’m just helping out my friend. 

My friend who can’t keep his hands off me. My friend who kissed me in a bar less than an hour ago.

I undo the button and quickly pull the zipper down, then yank his jeans off. I try to go as fast as I can, but because of that my fingers accidentally brush over the obvious bulge between his legs and he makes a sound from his throat. 

“Shit,” he says, and I can’t stop staring. I know I shouldn’t be, but it’s right there. Practically looking back at me. 

I throw him his sweatpants and turn around, obviously flustered. I cross my arms and take in a deep breath, closing my eyes for clarity. I need to get back to my own room. 

“April,” he says. 

“Hmm,” I respond, still turned around. 

“Can you look at me?” 

“If you’re clothed.” 

He chuckles. “I am,” he says. 

I turn around and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless with the sweatpants on, knees spread. My heart is pounding and my face is hot. If his eyes weren’t burning into me, I’d wipe my hands on my shorts from how sweaty they’ve become. 

“C’mere,” he says, nodding. 

“Jackson…” I trail off. “I…” 

“Want you,” he says. “Happy? I want you so damn bad right now, April, it’s not even funny. But hey, listen. If you don’t, you know… want me, that’s okay. But… I don’t think I’m wrong when I say that you want me really damn bad, too."

I lick my lower lip, grazing over his body with my eyes. Of course, he’s right. I just never thought this would happen. I don’t know how to begin comprehending it. 

“C’mere,” he says again, and seemingly without my permission, I take a couple steps forward so I’m standing between his knees, my face hovering above his. He has to look up to see into my eyes. 

His hands grip my thighs, then move upwards to graze over my ass, finally resting on my waist. His grip is firm and confident, and his eyes are swimming with something I can’t name.

Suddenly, I feel like the drunk one. With him this close, I’m intoxicated by everything he is and does. 

“I like you right here,” he whispers. “I like you close.” 

I nod shakily. “Me, too,” I say. 

He gently pulls my waist forward so my hips tilt towards him, and I can’t tell what he’s doing though I can tell he badly wants me to without saying it aloud. But I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how it works.

“Bend your knees,” he says, smiling. “Put them on either side of me, sit on my lap.”

“Oh… o-okay,” I say, gripping his shoulders as I lower myself down onto him. I rest on his thighs and he grips my ass again, keeping me close. 

“I like you here even better,” he says, fingers digging into my backside as his lips near the open skin bared from the V-neck of my shirt. When they touch my sternum, my muscles relax lower against him and I let my eyes flutter shut. He moves to my neck, wrapping one arm securely around my waist, and opens his mouth to run his tongue over my pulse point. I whimper, press my lips together, and tighten my grip on his shoulders. 

He moves to kiss the skin behind my ear, slowly swiping my hair out of the way as he goes. He sucks on it, which makes my core light up in a way it only ever used to when I was alone. Alone with my thoughts in my bed. I know what comes of that feeling, I’m a doctor after all, but I’ve never had one myself. I was taught all my life that touching yourself is wrong, and I scared by the myths that go along with it. If you masturbate, you’ll go blind. If you masturbate, you’ll grow hair on your hand. I never wanted to wake up one morning with hairy palms and have everyone know what I’d been doing. 

So, I resorted to thinking. Thinking a lot. Mostly about Jackson, and what’s happening right now. But I don’t need to fantasize anymore, this is real. 

He moves from my ear to suck on my neck, so hard that my eyes fly open and I take a sharp inhale. I shove my hips against him and he releases with a pop, then licks the spot he made sore.

“Oh, god,” I moan. 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Your neck… I got carried away…”

“My neck?” I say, touching the sensitive area. 

“I love it,” he says, kissing my throat. “It’s so long and pretty and… mmm…” 

Soon, we collapse on the bed so I’m under him. He’s heavy, but pleasantly so, and I wrap my arms around his waist to let him know that I like it. 

His tongue glides along the seam of my lips, persuading my mouth open. It doesn’t take much for me to comply, closing my eyes as he seems to memorize me from the inside out. I feel his hand on my waist sneaking upwards, and let out a surprised-sounding moan when it lands on my breast, only covered by a t-shirt. 

“S’that okay?” he murmurs, still kissing me.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, nodding. 

He smiles and squeezes it, and I feel myself get wet when he roughly grazes his thumb over my nipple. I open my mouth as he kisses me, surprised by the action, and he bites my lower lip softly and worries it with his teeth. 

“Goddamn,” he says, kissing his way down to my neck again. “You’re sexy.” 

He keeps teasing my breasts and nipples, alternating so they get equal attention, and I think I might die if I don’t get friction between my legs. My hips writhe from feeling so pent up, and I let out a frustrated sigh. 

Luckily, he’s good at reading my mind. With his lips attached to mine, his hand snakes down my body and flattens over the heat between my thighs. I make a soft sound and take a deep breath, feeling my eyelashes flutter as he starts to rub me through my shorts.

My hips meet his hand, stroke for stroke. He pulls away from my face, but I keep my eyes closed with my mouth open as he gets me closer and closer to what I need. When it happens, I squeeze his hand tight between my legs and let out puffs of air from my nose, in disbelief that my body could feel like it’s coming apart and pulling together all at once. 

I lie there panting as I recover, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. 

“Was that your first?” he asks, kissing my jaw with his hand still tucked between my legs. He’s not rubbing anymore, just absentmindedly stroking me through the now-damp fabric of my shorts. 

“Uh-huh,” I say, breathless.

He smiles and makes a proud little sound. “Your first orgasm… given to you by the one and only Jackson Avery as he made you come through your pants.” 

I swat his shoulder. “Stop,” I say.

And we should. By the look in his eyes, I know he knows that, too. If we keep going, it’ll go too far. He already made me come, which was never supposed to happen in the first place. 

After a few more errant kisses and wandering hands, we fall asleep. I don’t mean to; I meant to get up and go to my own room after changing my pants, but it doesn’t happen that way. Curling up next to him is too tempting, and my cloudy mind lets me give in. 

**_-Present-_ **

I run into Jackson at the hospital, feeling eyes boring into me in the cafeteria. When I look up, he’s walking over with a tray in hand just as I’m finishing my lunch. 

He sits down, studying me intently. “Last night,” he says. 

“We already talked about it,” I say quickly. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me the whole truth,” he says. “I was drunk, not dead. And it started to come back to me.” He lowers his voice and gets close to me so no one else will hear. “And last night, I made you come.” 

My eyes widen. “It was over the pants,” I hiss. 

“Yeah, and?” he says. “It was still an orgasm.” 

My face blushes beet red as I curl my hair compulsively behind my ear. I wish it hadn’t felt so good. If I hadn’t liked being with him so much, this would be much easier to deny. “Nothing happened,” I say sternly. 

He touches the hickey on my neck gently, gentle enough to make my hair stand on end. “Nothing, right,” he whispers, right into my ear. 

I shudder. 

“Let me know the next time you want ‘nothing’ to happen again.” 


End file.
